


And not a soul to hear

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Betrayal, Character Death, Drabble Sequence, Experimental Style, Gen, Heavy Angst, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 04:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: Roger Federer of House Stark believes in justice and the good of the world. It has terrible consequences.





	And not a soul to hear

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while watching a match. It's the first Tennis RPF I've written in years, so please bear with me. It's basically my vision of the tennis world as Game of Thrones.

Roger Federer of House Stark believes in justice and the good of the world. When his best friend Rafa calls on him for help, threatened and surrounded by the Lannisters who turned their coats, he has no choice but to rush to King’s Landing. The Lannisters have never been friends of the Crown, allies at best, but now they have openly become foes. Roger arrives too late to save Rafa’s life. Too early to gather enough support to avenge him. He walks right into the lion’s den.

Sascha Zverev of House Lannister executes him, laughing and shaking his blonde mane, marveling at how someone can be so stupid. Maria Sharapova, the Queen Regent, watches the scene from the distance. She did try to intervene, but not too much. She likes her head on her shoulders, and she quite likes Roger’s on the steps on the Sept of Baelor. As much as Sascha sometimes scares her, he’s half the power she holds. Angelique Kerber, sweet and pure soul, too sweet and too pure for a Lannister, watches him usurp the crown with sorrow. She once was dear to him and he to her, he once listened to her advice and she knew him gentle, but not anymore. She no longer knows him.

Novak Djokovic of House Baelish whispers lies into the right ears and keeps his blade sharp. His time will come.

Dominic Thiem, Roger’s heir, bawls his eyes out at first when he hears of Roger’s death, crying silently into the night, hidden under the furs in his cold room at Winterfell. Then he raises his banners because he has to avenge him. He has no interest in the throne, and he knows the war against the Lannisters is lost before it truly begins, but he has to do this. For Roger. For his own conscience.

Fabio Fognini eyes the throne lustfully. Being King is incredibly appealing. The responsibility that comes with it, not so much. But the music and warmth of King’s Landing are calling to him, and he’s been watching the gloomy rocks of Storm’s End for too long. He puts on his best armor and sets sail.

Nick Kyrgios sets sail from a different place, but he feels the same thirst in his soul. The Iron Islands aren’t able to quench it. Being King of the land nobody really wants means drinking sea water to quench that thirst. He longs for more, but doesn’t know what exactly he wants. He stares sullenly into the distance, waves crashing over his ship.

Meanwhile, far away from Westeros, Denis Shapovalov is playing in the desert with his baby dragons. “That throne belongs to me,” he mumbles. “I want it.” “Your Grace,” Juan Martín del Potro, an exiled knight from the Bear Island, says carefully. “Do you even know what that throne is and what it means to hold it?” Denis gives him a sweet, naive smile. “No,” he says, petting his favorite dragon. “But I want it.” He truly does, mainly because he believes that a King would be less lonely than he is.

Serena Williams of House Tarth knows what it means to be lonely. An errant knight, she wanders the Seven Kingdoms fighting for justice that nobody really seeks. Takes slaps in the face and blows to her body from people much beneath her, for the greater good, she tells herself. Sometimes she’s tired of everything. But she always gets up and draws her sword again.

Stefanos Tsitsipas of House Tyrell is drinking a glass of rosé in a palace of pink marble, wearing nothing but a satin night robe. The throne doesn’t appeal to him. The crown does, though, for the aesthetic. But he will not fight for it, not with swords at least. He hates cold weapons. His weapons are sweet and warm to touch - the smell of roses, the touch of skin, a playful smile and just a drop of poison.

Garbine Muguruza still holds the Riverrun, surrounded by her faithful lords and soldiers. She shows them her brave face by day and cries every night, for she is a gentle soul and every drop of blood shed during the pointless war feels like her own. She prays for peace to the Seven, but maybe those who say the old gods are dead are right. The smoke still rises on the horizon every morning with yet another village burnt.

David Goffin feels safe high up in the Eyrie, far from everything, all the smoke and the copper smell of blood. But he’s no less lonely than everyone else. King of the skies and wind, he fears the world has forgotten about him. He stares wistfully into the distance where the real world lies, but he’s as scared to descend from his fortress as his enemies are to climb up.

Stan Wawrinka of House Frey watches the bloodbath unfold with a cup of spiced wine and a sly smile on his lips. He knows better than to rush in like the young fools or weep like the nostalgic old fools. He’s waiting for his moment to join the right side. He doesn’t aim for the throne, but he does lust for power. And he doesn’t care who gives him that power.

Different things trouble Marin Čilić on the Wall. When he looks past the dark edge, he sees the true danger. He can smell it in the icy wind. And he knows the truth, the real truth none of the fools know. When the real war comes, there will be no winners.

Winter is coming, and he feels it in his bones.


End file.
